


Sex on a Stick

by almostblue (fictionalaspect)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Comedy, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Heterosexual Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, The Quidditch Pitch: Erotic Couplings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-06
Updated: 2006-02-06
Packaged: 2018-10-26 12:05:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10786416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalaspect/pseuds/almostblue
Summary: Harry's not quite as alone under the bleachers as he thought....





	Sex on a Stick

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes:

The follow up to A Spectator Sport.  


beta'd by LJ User Mld13 - any mistakes left are mine. 

* * *

Harry squeaked.  
  
There was no other word to describe it, really. He hadn’t even known he was _capable_ of squeaking, not since his voice had changed and he’d stopped sounding like an enraged mouse with a sore throat. His hands flew up to cover himself – Oh, this was _mortifying_. He knew Ron wanked and had even heard him on many occasions; hell, he’d just gotten off to the image of him doing that very same act. But he’d never caught Ron (nor had Ron caught him) _right after he finished_ , when he was still sweaty and flushed and there was come everywhere and he really, really just wanted to sink into a hole in the ground. Quickly.  
  
Ron, meanwhile, had doubled over in a fit of laughter. Fortunately for Harry’s ego, he’d let the drapes fall back into place, cocooning them in the musty half light. “You…it…you didn’t…” Ron couldn’t seem to get out more than a few syllables before snickering again. Harry clenched his teeth.  
  
“I’m glad you find this so funny, you prick.”  
  
“Pricks certainly are the topic of conversation now, aren’t they?” Ron was still smirking.  
  
“Oh, fuck off. Look, Ron – if you aren’t going to stop laughing, at least turn around or something. So I can…you know.” He quickly jerked his head in the direction of his still-exposed crotch, now shriveled from the cold. Ron turned around, snickering to himself, and Harry quickly set himself to rights. Of all the people to catch him…  
  
Sensing that Harry was done, Ron turned back to face him, sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of him. The goofy grin was still there, and he didn’t seem to be able to wipe it off. Harry knew – he just _knew_ – that he would be the laughingstock of the Gryffindor Boy’s dorm for months. Lovely. And he couldn’t even take the cowardly way out and try to make a run for it, because Ron was blocking the exit. And _God_ , how long had he been out there, anyway? Harry felt the colour begin to rise in his cheeks. If he had heard Harry saying his name, then he might as well just get ready for the beating now. Ron hadn’t punched his face in so far, so that was a good sign. Maybe.  
  
Harry groaned, letting his head fall back against the metal girder with a loud thunk. He winced at the pain and muttered weakly, “I’m glad I’m so entertaining, then. Perhaps I should sell tickets. Watch the Boy who Lived jerking off, only 5 quid. Guaranteed to be a good time!”  
  
Ron rolled his eyes in response.  
  
“Oh, shove off. You have to admit, it’s really funny.”  
  
“Ron, I don’t have to admit anything.”  
  
“Whatever you say, mate. I knew you were lying about your scar hurting, anyway.”  
  
“You…you did? How?” Great, now he felt like an asshole, too. Wonderful.  
  
Ron sobered up for a minute, peering seriously at Harry from under his fringe. “Your face. When it’s really hurting you, your eyes go a little grey and your jaw gets tight. It’s not a huge difference, but I can always tell.”  
  
Harry gaped at him. “How did you spend enough time staring at me that you _notice_ when my eyes change color?”  
  
Ron quickly changed the subject. “Anyway – I knew you were faking it, so I came to see what you were up to that you couldn’t tell Hermione about. Although I think she might have given you a helping hand, if you’ve told her.” He smirked.  
  
“First statement – no. And the second – oh wait – no.” Harry frowned at him. “I’m not going to tell Hermione when I want to go off for some…er…private time, and she’s your girlfriend, for fuck’s sake. I wonder what she would say if she knew you were offering her out to other guys.”  
  
“Not other…guys, Harry, just you.”  
  
“How is that any different?”  
  
Ron shrugged. “I don’t know, really. You know me; usually, I’d wallop any guy that so much as looked at her. But you…” he trailed off, looking thoughtful. “I don’t know. The idea doesn’t bother me that much.”  
  
Harry stood up abruptly, brushing himself off. “That’s grand. Just grand. Anyway, now that we’ve settled that you’d let me fuck your girlfriend -- something I never even wanted to know, by the way -- I’m going to take a shower. Forgive me if I’m not too keen on discussing just _how_ embarrassing this situation is.”  
  
Ron just grinned lazily at him, sending an errant tingle down his spine. God. If Harry’s cock decided to get an erection now, he would never live it down. Ron would think he was some kind of deviant sex maniac. Well – technically he _was_ a deviant sex maniac, but Ron didn’t need to know that. He was 15. It was _normal_ to want to jerk off three times a day. Or four. Or five. Perfectly normal.  
  
Right?  
  
Harry turned around, looking back at Ron curiously. The words came out almost before he could stop himself. “Ron, how often do you wank?”  
  
Ron blinked at him. “Er..I don't know mate. A few times a day, I guess. Why?”  
  
Harry turned to leave. “Nothing, I just wanted to make sure I’m normal, that’s all,” he said over his shoulder. “Wouldn’t want you to think I’m a freak or anything.” Well, more of a freak than he already was, anyway.  
  
Ron got up to follow him, sensing Harry’s need to leave. He put his hand on Harry’s shoulder and squeezed it affectionately, feeling Harry tense up under his hand. Ron was confused for a second. _Why was Harry so leery of being touched?_ Until he remembered that he was still shirtless and he was standing almost flush up against Harry’s back. Enough to make any bloke nervous, especially straight-as-an-arrow Harry.  
  
Ron watched him walk away, thinking to himself _What a waste_. He’d only burst out laughing at the situation because it was a far sight more acceptable then walking in and saying “Damn, Harry, hearing you wank off makes me really fucking horny. Give us a blow job, yeah?” It was a shame, really, that Harry was as inhibited as Ron had always assumed him to be, although the little virtuoso performance he’d walked in on a few minutes ago had him re-evaluating his opinion. And he’d heard Harry saying–moaning – someone’s name as he walked up, but he hadn’t quite caught it. Pity. _Don’t get your hopes up, Ron. It was probably a girl, anyhow. Harry’s just…not like that. You know that._  
Ron sighed to himself. As far as he was concerned, it was a crime against nature for someone with an arse that gorgeous to not be even a little bi-curious. What a waste.  
  
………  
  
Harry was just getting out of his shower when Ron was returning to the dorm. He was rubbing a towel through his messy hair when Ron walked in, dumping his Quidditch stuff unceremoniously on his trunk and sitting down on his bed to take off his boots. Harry-in-a-towel was really something Ron should be used to, by now. He saw it enough. But no matter what, Ron had never started being blasé about seeing Harry, naked, dripping, wet, and gorgeous. He’d just become better at hiding it. He studied his laces intently. _No, Ron. Don’t look up. Because then you’re going to want him, and it’s just not worth it. If you’re going to lust over something, lust over something you have at least a chance in hell of getting.  
  
Unlike Harry._  
  
He stood up to take off his sweatpants, noting as he did so that Harry had thrown on some boxers and jeans and was lying back on his bed sideways, feet on the floor. He apparently found the ceiling to be of great interest. Or something. Harry was always sort of odd, on his best days. Ron shrugged and tugged his sweatpants off, letting his boxers fall down with them as he began to hunt around for a towel. Nudity just wasn’t a big deal for Ron – in a family as large as his, in a house as small as the Burrow – well, any semblance of modesty got bred out of you pretty quick. He finally found a towel shoved incongruously under his bed, and then almost dropped it again when he stood back up.  
  
Because Harry was _looking_ at him.  
  
And not just in that sort of “Oh, hey, you-show-me-yours-I’ll-show-you-mine sort of way.” Harry looking at him with thinly disguised lust, if the lump in his jeans was any indication.  
  
Well.  
  
That put a new spin on things then, didn’t it?  
  
Ron dropped his towel and strode the four steps necessary to get him next to Harry’s bed. Harry had averted his eyes, obviously realizing he’d been caught red-handed (oh, and wasn’t _that_ just an appropriate term) and was ducking his head down, muttering “Ron, just bloody punch me already and get it over with.”  
  
Ron had other ideas.  
  
He took a firm hold on the top of Harry’s still wet hair, pulling his head back slowly. Harry had his eyes closed, unfortunately, so he couldn’t see that instead of the expected fist, there was in fact a very large erection a few inches from his face. Ron rolled his eyes. Harry could stand down Voldemort, but he couldn’t admit he wanted to shag his best friend. And apparently, couldn’t even open his eyes to look at him, bobbing impressively in front of his face. Time for Plan B.  
  
Harry frowned at him as he let go of his hair, raising his head, eyes still squeezed shut. “Just get on with it, will you? I’d like to be done with getting my arse kicked before dinner.”  
  
Ron huffed impatiently. “Harry, I’m not going to punch you. Just open your bloody eyes, will you?”  
  
Harry opened his eyes and immediately he was crushed back against his bed under Ron’s weight. And Ron was…Ron was…  
  
Ron was _kissing_ him.  
  
Harry felt like his eyes were rolling back in his head. Ron bit and nipped at his lips, forcing Harry to open up and let him in, kissing him firmly enough to bruise and he was _naked_ and on top of him and he was – _ohgod_ – he was hard and still sweaty from Quidditch practice and Harry was starting to think that maybe Ron walking in on him was the best thing that had ever happened to him instead of the worst. Because somehow (and Harry wasn’t really sure how, and he really didn’t care right then) that was connected to having a moaning Ron Weasley on top of him. Ron licked at his ear, tracing the outside and then carefully delving deeper, thrusting into him and biting and it was just so _dirty_ that Harry felt like he was in danger of coming right there and then. Ron sat up just then, leaving Harry gasping at the loss of contact. “Harry, move. Now.” he growled, not waiting for a reply before tugging him into a more comfortable position and pouncing on him. Harry was just beginning to revel in the feeling of all that smooth skin under his hands when Ron growled into his mouth and quickly grabbed them, pulling them above his head and holding them firmly. Ron was panting into Harry’s mouth above him, almost but not quite touching, feeling Harry’s spit-slick bottom lip just barely touching his, fighting the urge to just throw him down, turn him over and fuck him into the mattress, consequences and virginity be damned. He settled for grabbing Harry’s tie off the back of his nightstand and looping it around his wrists, securing him loosely to the headboard. That was vanilla enough for a first timer, right? He tried to think straight, but found it hard to ignore the throbbing in his groin and the writhing, moaning boy underneath him. He’d tied Hermione up their first time, hadn’t he? But then she’d gone and spanked him and it had just gone downhill from there. Well. He really should ask Harry, to be safe. Just in case.  
  
Ron leaned down to whisper in his ear, voice rough, sliding a hand in between their bodies and gently beginning to palm Harry’s growing erection over his jeans. “Mate, is this okay? I promise, I’m not going to hurt you, you’re safe with me and you can just say no if you want me to stop--” Harry cut him off, arching up into Ron’s hand and growling out “Just fuck me and get on with it will you?” Ron couldn’t hide his grin. Harry was apparently more than fine with sex getting a bit rough, if his mewling noises and savagely-bitten lower lip was any indication.  
  
Oh, this was going to be _fun_.  
  
Ron lifted himself up, straddling Harry with his hips while he made short work of his jeans and shorts. Harry looked amazing underneath him, hands tied above his head, face and chest flushed, gasping and licking his lips. Ron leaned down to bite at a collarbone, deciding to try a little experiment. He’d heard from Hermione that dirty talk during sex was something that most everyone liked (or anyone that she slept with, anyway, which was admittedly a pool with tastes a bit different from the norm), and he could just stop if Harry didn’t enjoy it. It was safe, even if Ron hated that word. Well, it was safer than say, spanking at any rate. That had to count for something.  
  
Ron began to murmur into Harry’s ear, all the while biting and licking and kissing anything he could reach, and continuing the slow, leisurely slide of his hand between their bodies. _Harry, who were you thinking of, when I caught you? Was it a bloke? Were you imagining him with his lips around your prick, taking it, sucking you and getting off? Was he stretching you with his fingers. Or was he_ \-- Ron’s tongue shot out to make another circle around Harry’s outer ear-- _licking you, eating you out, tasting you and feeling those gorgeous thighs shake while he fucked you with his tongue?_  
  
Harry swallowed hard, reaching up and biting savagely at the skin just behind Ron’s ear. Ron let out a breath he hadn’t even been aware he was holding. Harry was so eager, and he was feisty and Ron hated a submissive fuck and Harry had just the right amount of anger in him and it was driving him insane and _god_ he was dragging his lips over the welts he’d just created with his teeth and Ron almost missed it when Harry began whispering to him frantically. _Ron, god, it was_ you. _You were the one, Ron, you were the reason I had to leave because I just couldn’t sit there and watch you fly and not want to knock you to the ground and fuck you. And you were the one I was imaging watching me, only you, I was spreading my thighs just for you_ – Ron moaned aloud, feeling his heart pounding in his chest. God, Harry was amazing and panting and kinky as all hell and why on earth hadn’t they figured this out before? The idea of Harry, sitting under the bleachers, jerking himself off wantonly just for Ron, looking into his eyes and working that gorgeous cock – that was it. Ron needed him. Right now. And couldn’t wait a second longer or he was going to explode. He jumped up, whispering “I’ll be right back” and rushing over to his trunk to grab a small bottle. He stood at the edge of the bed, just taking in the debauched picture that Harry made tied to the bed post, cock sticky and dribbling pre-come, smiling lazily at him and drawing his knees up and offering himself up to Ron and Harry was biting his lip and Ron couldn’t resist stroking his own erection at the sight. The feeling of his balls tightening up jerked him back to reality and the realization that if he didn’t take care of this soon, he’d be coming all over Harry’s lap instead of some place a lot more appropriate.  
  
Harry grinned up at him as Ron carefully unscrewed the cap and poured some oil on his fingers. He winked at Ron.  
  
“You have a nice arse.”  
  
Ron grinned wickedly, sliding one finger slowly into Harry. “You have a nice cock.”  
  
Harry blushed. He _blushed_. And Ron decided, right then and there, that anyone who could manage to look shy and coy while tied naked to a bed with one finger up their bum definitely deserved a medal or something. However, lacking a medal, he settled for another finger. Harry was just so _tight_ and Ron had the sneaking suspicion he’d never done this before, and he probably should stop and think about this before anything drastic happened but Harry was just so hot and tight and slick with lube that any remaining blood left his brain and went straight to his cock. Ron hadn’t known it was possible to even be this hard and not like, implode or something. He must be was violating physics. Or anatomy or some really important physiological idea. He added a third finger.  
  
Harry was writhing frantically now, moaning and gasping as Ron fingered him. Instead of being anything resembling shy, he was begging Ron for _more, harder, faster_ , and Ron was only too happy to oblige. He paused as he pulled his fingers out and began to prepare himself, scooting up towards Harry’s face, still on his knees and asking, _You sure you want this, mate?_ Harry’s answer was to pull his wrists so hard he almost broke the headboard in his effort to get his mouth closer to Ron’s cock, so he assumed that was an affirmative. Ron pushed aside any thoughts of how good Harry would look tied up and sucking his cock, and positioned himself, spreading Harry’s legs and everything was soft and warm and slick and Ron knew right then and there that he was never going to be able to hold off, and that therefore it would probably just be best if he fucked Harry hard and fast. Or maybe that was just his cock talking.  
  
He slid himself in fairly quickly, not fast enough to cause any undue pain to Harry, but fast enough to make him gasp and clench and moan at the burning, stretching sensation traveling through his entire body. He slid himself out slowly, relishing the feel of Harry around him, pulling on his cock, opening for him – and he tried to slow down, tried to keep himself under control but Harry was just so _Harry_ , his best friend and his everything, and now he was making these low, breathy moans and moving his hips to meet Ron’s thrusts and just _watching_ Ron fuck him with so much trust in his eyes that Ron couldn’t hold it off a minute longer. He thrust brutally into him, once, twice -- pinning him against the mattress, forcing Harry to pull on his bindings and thrash and Ron came, burying his head in Harry’s shoulder and trying not to scream. As soon as he could move, he reached a lubed-up hand down to Harry and it only took one, two, three quick strokes, before Harry was gasping and twitching and his hands were wet and warm and drizzled with come. Ron flopped down on top of him, barely able to move but having enough strength to reach up and untie Harry’s hands. Harry dropped them back down with an exhausted moan and just lay there, catching his breath. Ron waited until he felt he could move again, and then shifted his weight off of Harry and onto his side.  
  
“Harry.”  
  
“Nnghng?”  
  
“Harry, c’mon. You can’t fall asleep. We have dinner in 2 hours.”  
  
Harry turned to face him lazily, stretching his body luxuriously and looking debauched and well-fucked. He raised one eyebrow. “Ron, I’m not going to be able to sit down for a week, my hands are numb, and I just had the best orgasm of my _fucking life_. I think I’m allowed a bit of a nap.”  
  
Ron rolled his eyes, throwing an arm around Harry’s middle and pulling him to fit up against his body. “Harry, I haven’t even gotten to take a shower yet,” he whinged.  
  
Harry snorted. “Hmmph. Take your shower then. I deserve a shower after all the grief you put me through this afternoon.” He peered curiously at Ron. “How did you know how to do all that shite, anyway? You’ve been dating Hermione for a year. Who else have you fooled around with?” Ron smirked. “Harry, when I said that thing about her lending you a hand, I wasn’t kidding. It’s all her fault I’m the way I am. She’s…well, adventurous is one word for it. ‘Fucking kinky’ is another.”  
  
Harry laughed, pulling the covers up around them. “You know, I just might have to take you up on that offer, then.” He felt Ron’s answering smile against shoulder as he turned to close the bed curtains.  
  
He had a feeling the three of them would be skipping practice a lot more often from now on.  
  



End file.
